


Forever In The Making

by gala_apples



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:04:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid thinks about why he's in New York, and comes to uncomfortable conclusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever In The Making

Sid stays in New York one night. He searches for Cassie for hours. The only plan he'd come up with on the plane was to find a cheap hotel and start walking busy streets in the morning. Cassie's only been gone a week, chances are she's still near the airport. Hopefully. Because really, there are like a million people in New York, and how the fuck is he going to find her if she isn't somewhere near the airport?

But when he gets off the plane, he sees every street is a busy street, even though it's the middle of the night. He's not too tired, if he was still in Bristol it would be seven in the morning, and it's not the first or tenth time he's been up for more than 24 hours. And apparently it doesn't matter to the New York citizens that it's two in the morning. Sid was sure on the plane that the lonely night would help him wait until morning to start his search, but this is a city that never sleeps and the next blond across the street could be Cassie.

Sid walks for hours, hardly daring to blink for fear he might miss the sight of frizzled blonde hair. His duffle is slung over his shoulder, the heavy weight of it pulling the strap down until it feels like either edge is cutting his skin open. Eventually his arm starts to go numb, so he switches sides and suffers through shaking the pins and needles out of his arm whilst letting the other go numb.

Eventually though, as the sun is starting to rise -though he's mostly still walking in shadow, thanks to all the high rise buildings- Sid finds himself walking entire blocks with his eyes closed. He's exhausted, and obviously it's not working. He leans his head into the open window of a cab and asks for the nearest hotel, 'a shithole place at shithole prices, please', and the man gives him directions with a smirk.

He ends up resting on top of the sheets in his clothes. He hasn't slept in a bed with clothes in ages, the floor at a party doesn't count and to be truthful he's normally at least a bit naked then. But the brown of the mattress shows through the sheets, and he just can't put his skin against it.

Unfortunately, his body shaking with exhaustion seems to have no link with his mind. He tries to stay still and convince his brain he needs to sleep, but it turns out he's more like his mates than he thought; even he doesn't listen to himself. Eyes closed to the watermarked ceiling and the lights sinking through the thin curtains, he has to think.

His thoughts are uncomfortable as hell. Thoughts about why the fuck he's doing this, about what the hell he's expecting to get from it. His bottom line shouldn't be as shocking as it is, he's always following other's wishes; buying mass quantities of pot, smuggling pills, keeping quiet about who he's fucking. He's in New York because of Tony. And sometimes, just sometimes, Sid's gotta learn to say no.

This time he takes a cab. There's no reason to walk, he's not looking for anything he doesn't already know the location of, and he doesn't think he could anyway. He's far too tired to attempt to find the airport, or get there on his own two feet. It's not like he needs to save his money for hotel and fast food expenses anymore.

Twelve hours later he's home again. Once he departs from the plane he stops at one of the tiny convenience shops. The caffeine pills go down like swallowing chalk, and Sid can only hope they'll be enough. Some E would be great right now; the meth working to keep him awake, the MDMA helping him to stop thinking about all the ways this can go wrong, but it's obviously not available.

He takes another cab to Tony's. He'll be out, it's midnight and he's only got the summer to fuck around before he has to go to uni and take things more seriously, but that's fine with Sid. His parents will let him in, and he can have a nap on Tony's bed. He's been up for fourty two hours, he needs a bit of a kip, the caffeine hasn't helped nearly enough.

Then the car pulls to a stop outside the Stonems. Sid can hardly pay the driver, his eyes focused on the lights on in Tony's room. Tony's at home instead of partying. At home, on a summer night. It's proof Sid's not the only one.

He knocks on the door until Mrs Stonem answers it, in her pyjamas. It's not surprising that she has to wake up and do it, rather than the one awake member of the house getting it; Tony's not good with menial tasks at the best of times, and if he's home at night he's obviously in a piss mood. Sid thanks her quickly, but before she can start a pleasant conversation he skirts around her and runs up the stairs.

He doesn't hesitate a moment before he bursts into Tony's room. It's one of the things that makes them the same, neither hesitate. It's just Tony gets results like another girl to fuck behind Michelle's back, whereas Sid's results are more like talking to some girl in the cafeteria without realising he still has gravy smeared all over his chin. It's not his fault Tony is luckier than he is.

"Sid, what the fuck?" For the briefest of moments Sid sees joy, and then Tony covers it with one of a dozen nearly-copyrighted fake smiles. One of the classic ones, cruel and cutting. "You couldn't handle New York? What a pathetic wanker."

"New York sucks. Fuck New York," he says lamely. Maybe he'd have a better retort if he wasn't so fucking tired. On the other hand, probably not. He never has much to say when Tony gets on him, just hopes he'll shut the hell up soon.

"Granted. But Cassie, Sid. You had a reason."

There's nothing Sid wants more than to say _no, you had a reason_ but that's not the kind of person he is. He can't... fuck it for Chris. He _will_ say it, he'll finally bloody say something he wants to.

"You're what I love best too." Okay, that was not _I only went to New York because you spent all that money trying to help me_. Hell. Tony stares at him, face set in another goddamn smiley smirk, and Sid starts to blush. As if life wasn't fucking hard enough!

"Right," he tries, floundering to save himself. "I'm just going to-" go, run away, go back to his house and try to not think about what a vast fucking plonker he is.

"Well thank Christ," are Tony's last words before they're kissing. Sid didn't even see him getting off his bed, but his tongue is in his mouth and there's no such thing as stopping Tony mid-snog. Not that he would anyway. No one would, Tony is a pit and no one's ever gotten out. The difference is, Sid knows Tony wants him for more than fucking. They're going to fuck, and it'll be weird as hell, but Tony won't ignore him afterwards.

Tony's hand are quick as they pull his belt apart. Sid pushes his hips forward and the zip slides down. He doesn't have a second to think before the heel of Tony's palm is pressing hard against his cock, which is also hard, and that really wouldn't be a funny concept if he'd slept at all during the flight home, but he-

"Did you just giggle?"

"No." Because sometimes lies are the most important thing in the world.

"Lying wanker." but Tony can call him whatever he wants, as long as he doesn't move his hand.

And of course he does. Because that's what Sid's life is like, everyone just does the exact opposite of what he wants. It's such fucking rubbish, and it always happens, and he really doesn't know why he keeps on expecting good things.

Except Tony doesn't pull away. He doesn't give that fucking evil fucking Greek god smile and make a joke of the situation then say he's going to call Michelle to tell her Sid's back. He just raises his hand to his mouth and spits on it, then shoves it past the elastic of his boxers. Sid would love to think something profound about spit and sex being dirty, he knows Tony could, Tony reads all those profound books with sentences a hundred words long, but he's got nothing. Instead all he can think is Tony's fingers are curled around his cock, and it's fucking great.

He finds himself pressing his forehead against Tony's, he can feel the heat of him through his hat. His arms are around Tony, hands clenched in the smooth fabric on his back. Nearly all of him is concentrated on hand-cock-fingers-grip-smooth, but a tiny part of his brain keeps flitting around to gather all the other sensations. Forehead-pressure, thin-cotton, warm-breath-cheek, he hasn't got time to focus for more than a second before he goes back to _Tony's wanking me off_ and _hell_ , it's so good.

"Christ. Fucking forever." And it's so out of context, it's three words, and Sid shouldn't understand what the fuck Tony's muttering about. But he does, because it _is_ the context. This has been forever in the making, all the work done behind lush red velvet curtains only to have them open on this.

"Yeah." the most elaborate statement it's not, but than Tony's never asked elaborateness of him.

"You need to touch me." And it's not the first time Sid's seen Tony vulnerable, this whole last year's been an example of it. But it's the first time Sid can't see people getting hurt from it.

"Can it wait? Because I don't think I can do two things at once." Really, he's barely handling this one thing, standing without collapsing and trying to feel everything there is to feel.

"Fucking hell, Sid." If he opens his eyes, he'd probably see Tony rolling his, but he doesn't care. "If you get all sleepy you're doing it anyway. I'm not waiting eight hours to get my end off." There's old Tony, bossing him around. It's almost comforting in a long stretch of revelations to have something so classically Tony.

"Yeah."

So Tony keeps going, hand moving faster than slower. It figures that even when Tony is being baldfaced about his feelings, his wanking is a tease. Each time Sid's about to come, Tony changes his movements, tight grip, loose grip, fingers curled so he can feel the shortly pared nails. There's something intoxicating about it, just like everything else Tony does.

Finally though, Tony seems to make up his mind. He tightens his grip again and nudges Sid's face so he's looking up, and once that's done he starts kissing him again. And for a moment it's lips-cock-tongue-cock-mouth-cock, but then cock most decidedly wins. He abandons licking the inside of Tony's mouth for panting hard against his lips, and nearly shrieks when his orgasm rolls out of him.

Tony's face pulls away from his, and just like that, Sid's post-coital euphoria is over. Seriously? After all this, after the bitching of just a few minutes ago, after everything they've fucking gone through for years, Tony's changing his bloody mind?

But it's just Tony looking at his come soaked hand, and wiping it on his jeans before shoving them to the floor and kicking them aside. It occurs to Sid for the first time that they've really got some trust problems, and that's fucked up considering how long they've known each other. And then Tony's looking him straight in the eyes, and he asks "Yeah?" It's probably the first time Sid's heard him use it as a question. Luckily he knows what he means.

"You've got no idea." It was perfect, really, as much as that's a hideously girly sort of thought.

"I'd like to. Prat." Tony's smiling, and Sid's nearly positive it isn't one of his 'I control everything' smiles. So Sid drops his head onto Tony's shoulder, his head sweating under the hat, and curls his fingers around Tony's erection. He has to, because he'd promised, and because he'd do whatever for Tony, and because he wants to.

He spreads his fingers as he's wanking him, it's something he likes as he can cover more of his dick at a time, and he hopes Tony likes it too. Tony's grunting, and part of Sid wants to protest, because surely Tony's had better than someone jerking him off for the first time, but most of him is just grateful this is good enough. That they can build up to sucking and fucking.

He moans _Siiiiid_ as he comes, spurting over fingers and onto the floor, and Sid can't remember ever being so thrilled to hear his name. Sid considers going to the loo to clean up, but in the end just wipes his hand on his boxers. They've got his come on the inside, and now Tony's on the outside. He wonders if it's creepy that he wants to take them home and stash them in his closet without washing them.

A loud yawn breaks the silence, and Sid eyes the bed longingly. Tony shrugs before pulling back the blanket, and Sid crawls in on his side. He wonders if it says something about their future sex life that he always sleeps on the nude woman's side.

Maybe it does. Maybe six months from now he'll be some sort of super-receiver, a big nelly queen. Somehow he can't see it, he wouldn't look good in leather, and he'd have to stop wearing his hat. But it's possible. He's not entirely sure what the future will hold, but he knows it's not New York, and it's not Tony visiting Michelle on weekends. _This_ , them on the same sides they've been sleeping on since Tony first got the comforter, this is going to continue, because neither knows how to stop around each other. And that's all the precognition Sid needs.


End file.
